John's Birthday
by hoolihoops
Summary: the one and only Sherlock Holmes throws John a surprise party after he forgets his birthday. again. fluff & bromance throughout.  last chapter could be read as a stand-alone, contains graphic scenes. rated M for last chapter. smut. BBC Sherlock.
1. Chapter 1

_it's pathetic how short this story is. still, i was going to write it all as one big fat hunky chapter but i'm too tired to write anymore so i just thought i'd give you 2/3 chapters. because im lazyimean lovely.  
>fluff marvellous fluuuufff, hope you enjoy!<em>

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><p>Emerging from a blur of steam from the bathroom of 221b Baker Street, a squeaky clean John Watson opened the door as he finished wrapping his thin, striped dressing gown around his damp body whilst running his fingers through his wet hair. The doctor sauntered past Sherlock, who was still sat, after a whole sleepless night, at the hard wooden dining table peering through the ocular lens of his beloved microscope - analysing some dilute fluid in a petridish. John took his usual place in his comfortable armchair, familiarising himself with the daily newspaper as he did so often.<p>

Sherlock's icy eyes glanced up briefly to study his passing friend but then soon returned back to work, with his slender fingers placed on both of the coarse adjustment knobs either side of the microscope. From time to time the detective would, very delicately, turn either the coarse or the fine adjustment knob slowly to clarify the image he was watching so intently. John placed one leg on top of the other to cross them as he flicked through the paper. He briefly read the cover story with little interest, another high-scandal murder that Sherlock wasn't allowed to interfere with and folded the paper shut onto his lap, re-reading the date again. There was a moment of silence before John briefly turned round to look at his companion, who, unsurprisingly, seemed to be engrossed in his work.

"The 7th of July today." John announced with his eyebrows raised in anticipation as he turned back round to stare blankly out the shrouded windows.

_No reply._

"Sherlock?"

"...Mmm?" Sherlock grunted, unenthusiastically.

"It's the 7th of July today."

Sherlock's head turned round to look at John, who now had his head looking to the side at an angle so that he could see Sherlock's reaction out of the corner of his eye. Sherlock looked heavily confused, with squinting eyes and furrowed brow. His eyes locked with John's expectant gaze then darted around the room in perplexity.

"... Great?" he slurred finally, elongating his response to add to the puzzlement.

John's expression immediately fell to disappointment as he turned his head back around and stared at the floor, frowning as he did so. The detective continued to analyse his friend in bewilderment, then shook his head slightly and raised his eyebrows momentarily – as if to remove the past scene from his brain – and continued gazing into the microscope. John placed the newspaper onto the side table and stared hopelessly from place to place in their small front room. Pouting in dissatisfaction, John rose from his armchair and turned around to look at Sherlock. Seeing the movement of his friend, Sherlock raised his head to watch him.

"So... there's nothing at all you that want to say to me today?" John asked, with a sharp tone of aggravation. His eyebrows were raised and lips slightly turned down at the sides. He stood tall with shoulders drawn back, his posture straight but his arms jutted further out from his sides than usual, with his fists tightly clenched. Sherlock recognised John's bad-tempered stance.

There was another moment of bitter silence whilst Sherlock studied John.

"Nothing but we can't afford to pay the rent this month. And you're bleeding from where you've shaved," he replied quickly, almost sardonically. "...underneath your chin." Sherlock slowly, awkwardly raised a lean finger to touch his own chin to indicate where. John rolled his eyes and stormed into the bathroom. Surprised, Sherlock raised his eyebrows and followed John with his gaze, moving his head to follow him as he did so.

Moments later, John marched from the bathroom to his bedroom and closed the door with a slam. The detective raised his eyebrows in response. Dazed, Sherlock continued with his study, having it rudely interrupted once more, but this time a good deal later, by John storming out of his bedroom, fully clothed this time – in another one of his thick knitted jumpers, despite the summer heat outside. The jumper was a faded dark jade in colour with a crossover chevron design. Heading for his jacket that was slung over his armchair, John overlooked Sherlock.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked childishly, watching John with an upset expression.

"Out." John replied bluntly.

"Why?"

"We need to pay the rent. I'm going to find a job."

John brusquely dressed himself in his jacket and strode out the door, swinging his arms excessively as his upset pout and dipping brow returned once more. Sherlock noted his body language and finally realised John's exasperation.

A crooked smirk emerged from the corner of his lips.

His plan had worked.

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><p><em>tehehehehehehehee. poor john. trololol. you didn't think sherlock would've forgotten his birthday DID YOU? of course he wouldn't.<br>not sure when this is set either. i'm thinking sort of between the study in scarlet and the blind banker.  
>yeah that'll do. whatever. you base it when you like.<br>hoe you've enjoyed this chapter and thanks so much for reading!  
><em>**HRM x**


	2. Chapter 2

_hooray longer chapter! by only a hundred words... but still. eehehehehe this was great to write. god i love putting them in stupid situations. hope you enjoy!_

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><p>Slamming the door shut behind him, John stormed off to the corner of Baker Street to hail a taxi. He checked his back pocket, then his coat pocket before he waved for the upcoming taxi to stop - only to find he had left his wallet in Baker Street. John apologised to the cabby before he drove away. The good doctor sighed, allowing his chin to fall heavily into his chest as he dipped his head in frustration. John hung his head, pouted his lips and weighed up his options: either go back to 221b and have Sherlock irritate him by how he ignorantly sat and did nothing, or... John shoved a hand deep into his front trouser pocket and pulled out some change then slowly counted the coins, moving them around in his palm with his opposite index finger as he did so.<p>

Enough for a bus fare.

John reinstated the coins back into his pocket and slowly headed up to York Street to board the number 82 bus from Baker Street to Bressenden Place GP surgery. He walked purposely up to the bus stop and leant back against the bus shelter's vandalised wall, folding his arms and trying to ignore the outlandish group of yobs that slowly approached the bus stop.

"_Brilliant."_ He muttered.

John watched as the ruffians pushed each other around, laughed heartily and cursed loudly, heavily drunk out of stout glass bottles as they stumbled into the bus shelter. The smell of the group, one in particular, was strong and poignant; that of alcohol, tobacco and a faint smell of urine. The smallest, yet the rowdiest, one of the bunch pulled out a white cigarette packet from his incessant pocket of his tracksuit jacket and removed one single cigarette, then gestured an offering to his companions. Unfortunately, each of the 6 yobs accepted and soon, John was surrounded by a thick cloud of smoke that lingered around the shelter like a burden and slowly swirled up into non-existence.

Repulsed, John restrained himself from showing any expression of disgust including coughing from the smell of the extensive amount of tobacco smoke that was being blown, he thought almost purposefully, in his direction.

'_Great_,' John thought. '_Celebrating my birthday in a flipping bus station surrounded by chavs.'_

Thankfully, after 10 minutes of waiting, the gleaming red 82 bus finally arrived and John, along with the gang of yobs, boarded it. John made sure he was as far away as possible from the loud and malodorous group, even when there were no seats available on this popular bus. Once John arrived at the surgery, he straightened himself up and presented himself to the receptionist – inquiring on the convenient job vacancies. Moments later, John found himself in a small box room with a smartly dressed older male, who appeared to be one of the general practitioners. Here he was asked a series of questions, along with his career history and work experience.

Meanwhile, at Baker Street, Mrs Hudson frantically dashed upstairs and downstairs. On her way up, she carried ribbons and streamers and balloons in numerous different colours that Mrs Hudson had bought for Sherlock's plan. After last year's heated debate, which soon spiralled out of control and into a fierce argument, about extravagant birthday celebrations, Sherlock felt he had to impress John this year. On asking for help about John's birthday, Sherlock elucidated the situation and so Mrs Hudson suggested a surprise party - which was quickly replied with a perplexed, _"But why would he want a surprise? Surely it would be better for him if he knew about the party?"_ But once Sherlock heard Mrs Hudson's explanation that surprises were always better, more meaningful, he opted for that decision – knowing that Mrs Hudson knew best - though he was still baffled by the thought of liking something more than if you knew about it.

Sherlock spindled like a spider around the living room and kitchen of 221b, adventuring onto the armchairs, the sofa, the tables and seating and even his desk to hang the vibrant streamers around the flat. He blew up several balloons and kicked them about, though finding it difficult to grasp the concept of inflating them and leading to his arms being thrown into the air in exasperation when he could not tie them.

Mrs Hudson rushed into the front room, breathing heavily, this time with arms empty.

"That's... that's the last of it, ooh, doesn't that look lovely? What should we do now?" Mrs Hudson asked excitedly.

"I need you to bake him a birthday cake." Sherlock announced almost immediately, spinning round to observe his creations.

"Oooh yes! What sort of cake would do you think he'd like, Sherlock?"

"Vanilla sponge, white icing, jam centre. _Lots_ of jam in the centre." Sherlock replied.

"Lovely, he does like his jam doesn't he... likes it all over his toast in the morning and a cuppa tea with..."

Sherlock clasped his hands loudly and inhaled deeply, which silenced Mrs Hudson. She could see the faint light of excitement; the same you'd see in a young child on their birthday; dance around in his vibrant eyes. Sherlock stood analysing his masterpiece as he brought his clasped hands up to his face, forming them so that his fingertips touched one another and his lips. Thinking.

"Look at you! I've never seen you this eager before, Sherlock!"

The detective turned his head to look at Mrs Hudson, with a large cheeky grin plastered across his face.

"Well it beats sitting around waiting for a case to crop up. Three, whole months since a case Mrs Hudson. I need some stimulation now and again..."

Almost immediately, his expression of amusement changed to an appearance of sudden realisation.

"Gifts!" he exclaimed. Then suddenly he looked worried. Mrs Hudson reassured him with a smile.

"It's alright; I've been to the shops and bought him a little something that I'm sure he'll love, I'll just put it's from you. We just need to focus on him not seeing this until tonight."

Sherlock nodded.

"I've invited Molly and Lestrade and even Donovan and Anderson, but apparently they were busy." Sherlock said, eyebrow raising temporarily as he quirked his head to the side with the movement, whilst he pulled his phone out from his shirt pocket. Mrs Hudson gave a surprised and slightly disturbed expression. "Quite a coincidence how both of them are busy, you can have a _wild _guess at what _they're_ up to tonight."

"Oh, Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson cooed, trying to hide her embarrassed titter. "I'll go and make that cake then."

Suddenly, Sherlock dashed over to the window and peered cautiously through the curtains which were drawn across.

"John's coming!" he declared, "Quick, go, go, get out, move!"

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><p><em>OPERATION TOP-SECRET PARTY IS GO GO GO. naughty donovan and anderson...they'resogrooooss. trolol.<br>thanks so much for reading and i hope you've enjoyed these chaptaaaas! :)  
><em>**HRM x**


	3. Chapter 3

_would like to just say HAPPY BIRTHDAY (funnily enough) to my friend Chloe - (aka claywinchester, .net/u/2273860/ClayWinchester) whose celebrating her 16th on this glorious day i'm posting this. _  
><em>HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU LOVELY THING 3<em>

_back to the story, hope you enjoy it! another silly short chapter._

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><p>Sherlock hurried a flustered Mrs Hudson out of the flat, took a quick look behind him to ensure the decorations were laid out in perfection and hastily shut the door behind him. Making numerous uncertain noises, Mrs Hudson flurried downstairs, followed swiftly by Sherlock who guided her inside her flat, closing the door as she entered. Sherlock then spun round and sat in the chair at the foot of the stairs, crossing one leg over the other and placing both elbows on the arms of the chair, bringing his fingertips together and placing them delicately on his lips. There, he sat and waited, staring into oblivion with a concentration shining in his squinting eyes.<p>

He heard the door unlock with a sudden _'clack'_ and the heavy, black door slowly opened, revealing a beam of bright light in the darkened corridor. Sherlock closed his eyes. John stepped through the door with two thin plastic bags in either hand, each containing some daily essentials that the two had been in need of for days now. Just before he advanced to close the door, John stopped and jumped as he saw Sherlock sat in the chair and looked as confused as he did shocked.

"What the hell are you doing in...?"

"Get out." Sherlock snapped. He quickly raised a pointed one finger straight to the front door, allowing the other hand fall into his lap.

John drew back his head in offence and surprise, with his eyebrows raised. The doctor shuffled on his feet, transferring his weight to one side of his body.

"Sorry, what?"

"Go, get out. I'm in my mind palace."

John quirked his head forward to the side, mouth slightly ajar.

"Are you serious? Why can't you do that...?" John's speech fell to silence.

Sherlock hushed him with a continuous and irritating signalling of his finger, moving his hand violently up and down several times. He then brought his hands back together and resumed his renowned thinking pose. John tossed his head, rolling his eyes, sighed loudly and reluctantly turned round to step out of the front door.

"Can I at least get my wallet?" John asked, turning himself back around and leaning on the door frame.

Sherlock's eyes flashed open. He stared at John.

"...Your wallet?"

John's expression shaped into a quick look of confusion at Sherlock's actions.

"Yeah... it's upstairs... I know where it is, it's alright I'll get it." John replied as he stepped back inside 221b and gradually made his way to the stairs. Sherlock sprung from his seat and stood in front of John, barricading his way with his lean, slender figure, proving - once again – that he had no knowledge for personal space. John looked up at Sherlock who was staring at him intently with a deep, purposeful glare.

Suddenly, Sherlock's expression changed into a look of puzzlement, then intensity. He sniffed around the doctor, moving his head and his body animatedly with every sniff he took. John stood, with tightened fists, in complete astonishment. Sherlock circled John, sniffing keenly at his great big, cuddly olive coat and then stood in front of him, even closer this time. Sherlock analysed John closely. He took John's arm in his hand and held it up to his nose as he inhaled the fabric deeply, closing his eyes. Sherlock slowly and deeply inhaled up John's arm and stopped at his shoulder. There, Sherlock held John's arm firmly beside him with one hand - almost pulling John closer into him – and stooped low to smell the fluffy fabric of the coat's hood by John's neck.

Sherlock relaxed his grasp on John's lower arm and raised both of his hands to grab the collar of John's coat. Sherlock hungrily pulled the collar upwards towards his nose, to draw the scent in, causing the frozen doctor to lift slightly onto his tip-toes.

Sherlock's clasp on John's collar remained firm as the detective dreamily lifted his eyelids open and stared into John's eyes, who gazed back with his wet mouth partially open. John recognised the fervent and greedy look in Sherlock's eyes.

"Cigarette smoke." Sherlock's deep, husky voice whispered as the edges of his lips turned up into a rough smile. "You're coat has been so wonderful to pick up that scent so strongly."

John's mouth closed and opened once more, this time to attempt to verbalize, but nothing was heard. The goldfish-like doctor's mind had turned to mush. The two stood, incredibly close, with their eyes locked intensely.

Unexpectedly, Sherlock quickly jumped backwards and clapped his hands together.

"So! The wallet. I'll get it." He said as he glided up the stairs. John stood in utter amazement. Moments later Sherlock returned with John's wallet and mobile.

"Now please leave, John. You've rudely disturbed me in my mind palace." He announced as he ushered John out of the flat. "You know how frustrating I find it when you disturb me. Although the delightful stimulation from your coat was a brilliant distraction, I need to think."

"Sh..Sherlock? Sherlock!" John garbled over Sherlock's speech as he walked him to the door.

"Please don't return until about... say, 7 o'clock? That's when I'll most likely be finished. Thinking is a long, hard job but it needs to be done. Laters!" Sherlock threw John his most 'normal' (sarcastic) smile possible and slammed the door shut, locking it as he did so.

John stood outside the door of 221b in complete bafflement. With his mind so completely scrabbled, John found himself at a loose end, resulting in the good doctor standing alone, trying to collect his thoughts together, unable to think of what to do. After taking a moment to compose himself John left the plastic bags on the doorstep of 221b and walked down the street, unsure of what events his boring, bleak afternoon would hold.

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><p><em>lalalalalalalaaa. OOOH BIRTHDAYS ARE SO MUCH FUN. trololol at Sherlock. he's such a silly little thing.<br>thank you so much for reading and i hope ya'll enjoying it._ :)!  
><strong>HRM x<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

_god look at this, two chapters in one day. you must feel special. or i have no social life. SO MUCH FLUFF. hope you enjoy!_

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><p>Open. Close. Open... Close. Open, Close. Open.<p>

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson called from the kitchen, serving up another hot tray of mini sausage rolls. "Come away from the window dear, he won't be home for another 5 minutes at the very least!"

Like an eager puppy, Sherlock stood dressed in his preferred black trousers, shirt and blazer, gazing out of the small opening between the curtains, which he would open further each time he saw a silhouette approaching the flat, of the window nearest his armchair. His eyes were wide and excited, desperate to observe the reaction from his dearest friend once he returned home.

Mrs Hudson had been cooking and baking and preparing all sorts of delicacies for that evening including sausage rolls, bowls of crisps, mini battenburgs, plates of hobnobs and digestive biscuits, cocktail sausages and the all important jam sandwiches, which were cut into triangles with the crusts left on, just how John loved them. An array of cheese and lettuce sandwiches also accompanied them. Alcoholic beverages, such as John's favourite white wine, stood tall next to the platters of impressively laid out finger foods, which were placed on the – now finally cleared – kitchen table. Mrs Hudson had managed to convince Sherlock to put away his experiments and equipment for one evening, a task which he found extremely hard to do so.

The doorbell sounded, with a long sharp buzz. Sherlock looked towards the door in anticipation, neck craning outwards. The long buzz then followed with two small sharp ones then a fever of quick, impatient ones as the noise merged into the tune of 'Happy Birthday'. His hopes shrunk along with his shoulders as he turned to look back out the window, muttering to himself: "Lestrade. Most likely with Molly by the sound of the buzzer."

Mrs Hudson dashed out the kitchen, clad in thick oven gloves and an apron, and scurried down the stairs. Sherlock heard the sound of the door unlock, then followed by an outbreak of greetings, an extraordinary loud slur of "Whheeerrrre's the birthday boy theeeen?" from Lestrade and a chorus of giggling from Molly. Sherlock moodily sulked around the room, kicking about balloons in boredom.

Silly stumbling footsteps followed the noise and before long, a tipsy Lestrade and a bubbly Molly entered the room. Sherlock noticed Molly's cheeks blushed a brighter shade of red than normal – most likely caused by the alcohol.

"Wa-heeeyyy!" Lestrade cheered as he entered the room, throwing his arms up into the air – one hand holding a champagne bottle decorated with a red bow. He stopped and looked around the room. "Oh..." he muttered, then chuckling to himself and turning to Molly who was chortling away to herself.

"Where's John?" he asked, advancing further into the flat. Mrs Hudson swiftly followed, stopping in the doorway to meet Sherlock's staggered gaze. She then raised an imaginary glass to her mouth and tipped it back a few times before scurrying back into the kitchen.

"And it's nice to see you too Lestrade. He's out at the moment. It's all a big surprise if you remember I told you earlier."

"Oh yeah, of course! Well, well, me and Molly we went out for a drinky and then we bought John a bottle of champers just to say 'appy birthday and all that..."

"Yeah me and Greggy only had a few though mind... we didn't have toooo~ many..." Molly giggled hysterically, falling onto Lestrade 'accidentally'. Lestrade held her up skilfully and laughed with her.

"She's a right old dancer this one, you'd never have guess it would ya?" Lestrade announced, grabbing Molly's hands and twirling her round like a blushing ballerina. "'ey there's a thought, where's the music then?"

"We haven't got have a stereo." Sherlock replied firmly, his face turning sour. By this time the detective had returned to his place back at the window, continually staring into the darkening street. "Where is he... it's almost three minutes past seven..." He muttered.

"No stereo?" Lestrade boomed looking at Sherlock's back in disgust. "Well we can't 'ave that now can we? We'll 'ave to sing then!" Molly fell backwards onto John's armchair, glowing redder and redder each giggle she gave at Lestrade's attempt of Tom Jones' classic 'It's not unusual'. Sherlock rolled his eyes and stared intensely out the window, keeping the curtain's gap small but able to see through.

Suddenly, a dark figure appeared round the corner and walked purposefully up the street.

"JOHN!" Sherlock shouted, silencing the room. "HE'S HERE!"

The race was on. Mrs Hudson finished drying up the last few trays and plates, stacking them into the cupboards frantically. Sherlock ran to the light switch, flicked the room into shadows and then stood in the corner of the room, underneath his skull print on the wall. Lestrade dived behind the sofa, almost breaking a limb as he did so, whilst Molly flittered around the front room looking completely lost.

_Ch-Cl-Clack!_

Molly ran and squatted behind John's armchair.

Mrs Hudson took her place by the light switch.

The room fell completely silent.

Heavy, hard footsteps walked up the stairs one by one, seeming increasingly slow the closer he got to the flat. Sherlock's heart was pounding out of his chest. Never had he felt so alive.

"Sherlock, I bloody hope you've done with all your _'mind palace'_ rubbish 'cause I could really do with something stronger than a cup of tea right now..."

Mrs Hudson flicked on the lights.

"SURPRISE!" Lestrade, Molly and Mrs Hudson shouted, all three jumping from their hiding places. John fell backwards in alarm, bracing himself on the doorframe. His expression turned from shock to elation as he glanced around the decorative flat with excited eyes, completely missing Sherlock, who stood in the corner beaming with joy at the sight of John's happiness. His reaction was perfect.

John stepped into the middle of the flat as Molly, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade embraced him, giving him their greetings, including Lestrade singing a round of 'Happy Birthday'. After all was finished, his laughing faded and his face fell.

"Wait... where's Sherlock?"

A kind hand rested on John's shoulder from behind him. He turned around to see a more than content Sherlock beaming down at him, with excitement in his eyes and his grin. John's smile spread across his face as he nodded at him.

"So that's where all the thinking rubbish came into play did it? And I fell for it. I feel like such a complete tit."

"...Well I wouldn't go past saying that you're an idiot." Sherlock replied, acting as if it was obvious.

"Oi! Now don't ruin it, you've just done something genuinely nice – almost human – for someone other than yourself."

"Well, he did have a bit of my help, but it was mostly his idea... Sherlock's." Mrs Hudson chipped in, handing a glass of wine to John then Sherlock.

John looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock looked down at John. The two exchanged pleasant smiles and a heartfelt stare whilst Mrs Hudson and Molly danced to Lestrade's crude remake of 'Happy Birthday'.

"Thanks, Sherlock." John said meaningfully, holding the gaze.

Sherlock nodded slowly. Understandingly. Lovingly.

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><p><em>i ship lestrade and molly because of reasons. did you SEE him eyeing her up in scandal of belgravia? come on. he totally has the hots for her. GOD I LOVE SHERLOCK AND JOHN SO MUCH. KJDSNAJFNDFDSKJ.<br>sorry. umm. yeah. so although this seems like the last chapter... it's actually not. i've decided to write one more chapter. and it will contain some naughtiness. just saying for all you fluff-but-not-slash-lovers. so if you're one of them, you can end it here. or if you're a full blown randy mare like me, you wanna wait for the next chapter._

_trust me._

_thanks ever so much for reading and i hope you've enjoyed it! :)  
><em>**HRM x**


	5. Chapter 5  serious smut

_**WARNING - ****seriously explicit and graphic sex scene involved**. if you're not a fan of lemons, smut, john/sherlock and general porn for your own sanity and stomach do not read ahead but end the story on a high with the previous chapter. _

_okay so basically, this is what i was going to do the story about all along, but i really wanted to do some fluff beforehand and you've had that... so now you get the filth. i just can't right now, i'm sorry. my ovaries have burned up. this is a REALLY long chapter. so do feel free to get a cuppa or something. trolol. hope you enjoy all you dirty, sick fans of mine!_

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><p>It was well gone midnight by the time Molly and Lestrade decided they had better leave the party of 221b and head home; actions swiftly followed by Mrs Hudson only minutes later to return downstairs and leave the drunken boys to sober up. What Mrs Hudson didn't reveal, although Sherlock unintentionally, and rather obnoxiously, pointed it out for her anyway resulting in a fit of giggles from John, was that she too had one too many 'drinkies' and had an engagement with a former (male) friend the morning after, a friend that she had high hopes for a long and happy future with. The hiccupping Mrs Hudson gave Sherlock a playful slap on the shoulder and stumbled downstairs, having to brace herself on the handrail numerous times.<p>

Before Mrs Hudson's departure, John escorted Lestrade and Molly to the front door, said a slurred goodbye and embraced them both (Lestrade holding the cuddle for a little over the time of awkward) and shut the door behind them, leaning his back against it and releasing a well meant sigh. John then rested against the black door for a while, twiddling with the scarf of streamers and popped balloons he wore, and watched Mrs Hudson as she fumbled downstairs and retreated into her flat. Once the flat fell quiet - besides Sherlock's distant, drunk singing of every element in the periodic table - John stumbled his way back upstairs, slipping on strips of streamers that had now fallen and was slowly making their way down his torso.

Sherlock stood on his broad black, leather arm chair, swinging around the almost empty fifth bottle of white wine in one hand and holding – relatively still - a full glass of the drink in the other, with his eyes closed and head tipped back. His deep, lustrous and slightly slurred singing voice bellowed through the flat. John fumbled up the stairs and into the front room, choking with laughter at the sight of his friend.

Hearing his friend's entrance, the great consulting detective seized his mantra and rolled his head round, tucking his chin into his chest and pointing his brow at John, and looked down at the doctor with hazy, bloodshot eyes. A devious grin spread across his face. Despite the liveliness of his friend, John could see the tiredness in Sherlock, due to the 72 hours without sleep he had completed, now taking an effect with the combined influence of the alcohol in his system. Sherlock hobbled over to John, taking giant, over-exaggerated strides to meet his friend and within seconds, Sherlock was standing in front of him with no regards to personal space. His balanced wavered unsteadily. The two stared into one another's eyes, smirking.

"More... wine?" Sherlock slurred, swinging his hand up to John's face and offering him the glass of, now half empty, wine. The drink sloshed around in the glass madly, most of the contents spilling over the rim and falling to the floor, only to be absorbed by the rug moments later.

John screwed up his face in uncertainty, eyes squinting at the glass, knowing that he shouldn't for he could just about remember the gruesome consequences he'd have to endure in the morning. John could hold his drink skilfully, but he could not cope well with hangovers. Sherlock watched his friend's mind working towards a decision and then saw his judgment change.

"Pfffftt, sod it. Go on then." John answered, a cheeky grin playing on his intoxicated face as he took the stout wine glass from his friend to knock back the drink. Sherlock strode over to his armchair again to resume his position. He took a long slug from the wine bottle, emptying it, and raised his long, slender arms up into the air at perfect right angles from his body.

"Now!" he announced, head tipped back and eyes closed once more, "For the song of every compound in the unniiveerrsssee!"

"No! No, no please!" John begged, falling around and laughing. "Spare me! Please, just stop with the singing!"

In response to his friend's plea, the detective burst into a deep, rumbling snigger and looked down at John, who was bracing himself against the frame of the kitchen arch. Sherlock dropped his hands down by his side and let the empty bottle fall out of his grip and comfortably into the armchair. Sherlock took a (wrong) step forward to dismount from his stage, but his balance failed him. Misplacing his footing, he stumbled violently off his armchair and collided with John, who managed to dive quickly in front of Sherlock to cushion his friend from the force of the fall. John let out a sharp yelp of pain as his back smacked against the cold, wooden floor; the impact made all the more brutal by the heaviness of Sherlock against his body.

The two men were a mess of entwined legs and arms before the shock had worn off. Placing his hands either side of John and lifting his chest up, Sherlock removed his sagging head from John's shoulder and stared at him, mouth slightly ajar in surprise. John's expression was distorted with hurt; eyes squeezed shut and lips pursed tightly.

"John? John, are you alright?"

John's pain gradually faded from his expression as his eyes opened to look up at Sherlock who was inches from his face. John looked into Sherlock's luminous, panic-stricken eyes – seemingly brighter than ever against the dark shadows that shrouded his face and more so around his defined cheekbones. John smirked, then burst out into a light chuckle, triggering Sherlock's sonorous, rich snigger to follow.

"Bloody close one that was." John muttered as Sherlock jumped up from the floor, offering his hand. "Careful, next time."

Sherlock, regretting the speed in which he stood up for his head spun into a dizzy rage, placed a hand on John's shoulder to steady himself once he hauled his friend up from off the floor. The two stood close.

"I assure you there won't be a next time." Sherlock growled, leaning his face in closer to John's. Feeling the tension growing, Sherlock pulled away and spun round to enter the kitchen but stumbled, falling once more. Immediately, John grabbed Sherlock's wrist just as he fell and jerked the detective up and in towards him. Their chests and groins collided.

"I think you've had enough," John's drunk and husky voice muttered. "Don't you, Sherlock?"

Quirking his head slowly to the side, Sherlock raised his left eyebrow and right side of his lip into a seductive half-smirk.

"I'm just getting started."

Without taking his eyes off John, Sherlock took a step backwards and swiftly swiped the last bottle of – this time red - wine from the table beside him and mockingly wobbled it in his hand from side to side at his friend.

"No, Sherlock. Hand it over. You're even... you're even drunker than I am."

Sherlock ripped the cork out from the bottle with his gritted teeth.

"Sherlock."

He spat it out onto the floor.

The ogling continued. Neither one of them was willing to give up the title of staring one another out.

"Don't make me order you." John growled.

Sherlock, sensing a challenge, stepped forward towards John, their bodies almost now in close contact.

"I'd like to see you try." Sherlock answered, holding the intensely sexual stare.

The detective carefully raised the wine bottle to his lips and took a large mouthful, letting beads of the drink seep from his profoundly delicate lips and ooze out of his mouth to dribble down his face. Out of impulse, John dreamily raised his hand up to Sherlock's face. He cupped his hand round Sherlock's jaw and wiped away the globules of wine that hung from Sherlock's chin with his thumb. John's thumb cleaned closer towards his lips, wiping the wine away as he went, several times before finally, he ran it slowly and tenderly across Sherlock's wet lower lip, where he felt the tip of Sherlock's tongue against his thumb. The sensation gushed through him like an impulse as his brain suddenly became overcome in a wave of fuzziness and warmth. Sherlock slowly raised a hand up to his face to hold onto John's. The two continued with their ongoing ogling opposition, Sherlock's half-smirk returning and John's face showing the fight against a familiar, strong and desperate urge.

Sherlock took hold of John's fingers in his hand and moved the doctor's thumb into his mouth where he sucked it gently and slowly cleaned John's thumb of wine with his tongue. John was now becoming increasingly aroused, blood surging towards his crotch. When Sherlock had finished he kept his grip on John's hand but unhurriedly moved their arms down to their sides and held it there.

The two men stood there, groins now touching, holding hands and gazing into one another's hazy, inebriated eyes. Their breathing was heavy, deep and hot with the strong smell of drink. This, along with the alcohol already in their system, and the heat of the moment made the two, though John even more so, exceptionally dizzy, either with lust or with drink, or both.

"John there's one thing I forgot to give to you for your birthday..." Sherlock muttered; his rich voice swirling through John's head.

"You've already given me so much, Sherlock." John responded, looking round the trashed flat, streamers and popped balloons lay still everywhere. "This party has been fantastic, really."

"No... There's one more thing, one more present for you."

Sherlock snaked his free hand round John's head, running his fingers through his short, military hair, and pulled John closer into him. John could just feel the detective's increasingly fast heartbeat. Never had he seen Sherlock this intense. John raised his eyebrows slightly as his eyelids drooped to a half close in pleasure.

"Oh? And what's that then?"

Sherlock leaned his face towards John's. Sherlock pressed his cheek gently against John's, Sherlock's lips millimetres from his ear, and whispered,

"Me."

The detective raised his head back up to look into John's eyes. He released his grip from John's, took his friend's face in his hands and cupped his long slender fingers round his jaw line and neck before closing his eyes and kissing John passionately, gradually edging him backwards, then pushing him against the wall.

Despite his surprise, John did not object but kissed back, opening his mouth and nibbling on Sherlock's lower lip. John braced himself against the wall and then placed his hands on Sherlock's hips, his fingers grasping like claws as he pulled and tugged at the detective's shirt. Sherlock pinned John against the wall with his body, moving one hand up to brace him against the wall, and entwined a leg between John's; to lock him in position. Sherlock could feel John's hard on.

The doctor pulled back from the kissing and rested his head back against the wall, tilting it sideways and upwards. He breathed heavy and hard. Sherlock's lips progressed from John's mouth down towards his neck where he sucked and nipped and kissed John's skin to his content.

"Oh fuck... Oh, god Sherlock..."John moaned as he let out small pleasurable groans to Sherlock's actions, which only stimulated the hungry detective to quicken his pace, biting and sucking even eagerly. His kissing gradually moved back towards John's lips as John shifted his head's direction to face Sherlock. John's hands slipped into Sherlock's back pockets of his custom fitted trousers as he pulled the detective's hips closer into him, feeling Sherlock's erection. Slowly grabbing John's hands from out of his pockets, Sherlock globed his shoulders over the doctor as he raised John's arms up to above his head and held them there, pushing John flatter against the wall.

It was now Sherlock's turn to breathe.

He had never felt so alive, so drunk, so intoxicated by lust and love till now. John, unable to move his arms, stretched his head round to Sherlock's ear and nuzzled Sherlock's face with his chin, indicating for the detective to draw closer. Sherlock succumbed, pressing the side of his face against John's. Here, taking his time, John nibbled at Sherlock's earlobe – Sherlock responding agreeably with short groans and gasps of air as the pinching of John's teeth shot through his nervous system. Slowly and surely, John seductively licked behind and around the detective's ear, moving his tongue in large circles, pressing the tip of his tongue harder against Sherlock's skin every time he reached the sensitive skin immediately behind Sherlock's earlobe. John's tongue trailed down Sherlock's jaw line then back to his mouth where, even before Sherlock had finished his heavy breathe routine, he continued kissing him again, the kiss braking between gasps of air.

"John... oh John..." Sherlock groaned as he lowered John's arms to their former position. John ignored him, still continuing to kiss and claw at Sherlock's waist.

"John..." He pulled his lips away from John's and the two stared at one another, ravenous. "Take me."

Oh, how John had waited to hear those words. He responded with a large, greedy grin and locked lips with the detective once more, mashing his lips harder against Sherlock's. He pulled Sherlock's satin shirt out from his trousers and ripped it open, buttons either successfully holding onto the stitching or unfortunately being torn off. John then took off his own shirt, along with some stray streamers that were secretively still lurking inside John's shirt, whilst Sherlock removed his. In a role reversal, John then flipped the detective round so that _he_ was now flat against the wall. The fervent, frantic kiss continued with the odd gasp, groans or moan. John placed his hands upon Sherlock's warm naked waist and held him firmly against the wall, unintentionally thrusting lightly against him. Sherlock's hands were moulded tenderly around John's face.

John's blunt fingernails clawed and scraped at Sherlock's skin. It all became too much. The feeling was overwhelming. Sherlock pulled John's head away as he lifted his face up to the ceiling, closing his eyes, panting heavily.

"Should we take this upstairs?" John growled.

Within moments, the two were upstairs in John's bedroom. Sherlock sat on the bed, flipped off his shoes and tore off his socks as John closed the door, also taking off his shoes and socks and then unbuttoning his trousers. Once John had fully stripped himself down to his tight white shorts, he turned round and watched Sherlock, who sat breathing heavily, with every inhalation quivering in anticipation.

John strode towards the bed and mounted Sherlock, pressing his bare chest hard against Sherlock's and stooping low to kiss his partner once more whilst he balanced himself on his knees and elbows – on all fours. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's undulating curls and he caressed the detective's graceful head. They kissed for longer, more ardent before John removed his moist lips from Sherlock's and kissed his way down his neck to his prominent collarbones. There he indulged in sucking and licking at them, each one taking his time to bite the bone softly before trailing his tongue up and down the length of the collar.

John slowly descended south with his tasteful tongue and let it pursue the path down Sherlock's chest, stopped to nip each nipple and suck gently, then proceeded further down Sherlock's abdomen to his trouser line, where his journey was forced to impede. There, John quickly climbed off the bed, flipped Sherlock over and placed one hand on Sherlock's back and gripped his trousers with the other. John skilfully swiped off Sherlock's trousers and pants, and then followed by his own boxers. John waited for his partner to turn himself back over, indeed Sherlock was extremely curious as he presumed. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat at the sight of John's naked body. He lay flat, totally submissive.

John stared at him, hungry. He climbed onto the bed and lay on top of Sherlock, mounting him for the second time. Sherlock straddled his hips as the two began smooching once more, thrusting once more. Sherlock steadily removed a hand from the small of John's back and moved it hand down to John's shaft and clenched his hand around it. The detective moved his fist up and down, fast and effortlessly proving he had some experience when it came to pleasure. John could feel his erection getting hotter and harder.

"Ah, oh God... shit, Sherlock..." John whimpered. The throb of desire pounded through John's dizzy head, blood continuing to surge south. Every part of his body started to tremble as he felt the bittersweet drops of precome seep from his cock. John groaned hard and he pulled away from the kiss and stared into Sherlock's eyes, to prolong the tension at its pinnacle. Both could see the haziness of drunkenness in each other's eyes slowly starting to fade away.

"Ready?" John asked.

Sherlock responded with clenching John's hips with his hands and pulling him in closer, widening his hips and arching his back. Sherlock was by now, too, trembling in anticipation. John continued to kiss Sherlock remorselessly, balancing his body weight on his elbows as he pushed in with his hips, positioning his cock at Sherlock's entrance.

"Do it." Sherlock growled as he pulled John's head down to his shoulder and arched his back further. The kissing stops but the plunging continues. John thrusts into him gently at first, accepted by Sherlock, then proceeds into a harder, faster, relentless rhythm. Sherlock screwed up his face in the overwhelming satisfaction of pain-pleasure, gritting his teeth and biting at his lip. John relishes in the satisfaction of, finally, being inside Sherlock - the scraping of Sherlock's fingernails against his skin and slick feeling against his cock sends him into a daze of the start of an orgasm. Sherlock noted John's heart rate, blood pressure and breathing pattern increase tremendously as he felt John's forceful thrusting regulate into a steady tempo as Sherlock started to reach his climax. The detective wrapped his legs around John's body in hope of the doctor penetrating further inside of him as he felt his orgasm begin coiling around in his belly.

"John, oh God... John..."

This shift in position obviously pleased John's body also - tipping him over the edge and unable to retain himself - sending him into a ruthless, unruly pace, thrusting in and out of Sherlock with great friction, causing the detective to reach his orgasm as he gave out loud groans. Neither of them cared who heard them now. One last thrust, one last loud outburst. John slumped over Sherlock, leaving himself deep inside Sherlock, well and truly spent. He could feel the warm drops of sweat and come on Sherlock's lower abdomen as he rested his chest onto Sherlock's. John steadily withdrew himself from Sherlock before he collapsed next to him. The two lay next to one another with closed eyes. Their bodies were hot, humid and sticky with sex as their chests heaved in and out, desperate for air.

"Happy birthday, John." Sherlock breathlessly whispered finally, closing his eyes.

John just smiled.

**FIN**

* * *

><p><em>yes it's john dominating sherlock, because since john's the one with sexual experience i can see him being more... you know... DA MAN as they say. who, i'm not quite sure. cor. i need a cold shower after writing this. not that you needed to know that, just thought i'd make you laugh.<em>

_so that's it for this story, lemme know how you've taken it - how many ovaries i've destroyed - and whatnot. hope you've enjoyed it folks and thanks ever so much for reading it. lots of love._

__**HRM xxx**


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